And Then The Drumming Stops
by JacksBoonie
Summary: The only two? That thought hasn't crossed my mind in a very long time. I've always been preoccupied being the Master. I never thought it'd come down to this, dying in my mortal enemy's arms. [Death of the Master. Slashy undertones.]


AN: So this is my first _Doctor Who_ fic. Go easy, Kats and Kittens, yea? Anywho, this story is based on (SPOILER) the death of Harry Saxxon (aka: The Master). I just finished season three online, and I was attacked by a plot bunny, so here it is: my attempt at a _Doctor Who_ fic.

I apologize if any of the dialogue is off. I copied it from the actual television show ('cause I couldn't find the script anywhere online ... depression). Anyway, no more blabbing. Get on with it, already!

Disclaimer: I do not own the television show _Doctor Who_. I do not own the characters of the television show _Doctor Who_.

_And Then The Drumming Stops_

"We're the only two left," he says, and I can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of . . . _loneliness_ at this blunt statement. The only two? That thought hasn't crossed my mind in a very long time. I've always been preoccupied being the_Master_. I never thought it'd come down to this -- dying in my mortal enemy's arms. And he looks so sad, like we've been friends for ages. He's always looked that way at me. Never in hate. Ever.

It's only ever been love.

Even when he's shouting at me, telling me I'm doing something wrong, that I've gone mad, all I can see in his eyes is an everlasting affection that burns so deep it doesn't seem to have a bottom.

His eyes, those dark pools that reach out to my soul, plead with me to stay with him, they're filled with tears. My own want to fill as well, but I long ago forgot how to cry, how to feel the way that he feels. My soul is darker than it once was, and it is not so easily manipulated anymore. Not by anyone, especially him. Not even his sweet, sultry voice can chase the drums away.

And he screams at me. He wants me to regenerate so badly, and I so badly want to comply with his wish, his final request of me. But I can't. I can't force him to stay in one place forever. He's the Doctor. He's meant to be out there, visiting time and places that no one else can. He's meant to be alone, even if I so desperately want to keep him company.

The poor, lonely Doctor. Forever to remain alone.

I don't want him to cry over me. I'm no one compared to him. I've always known that. It's what scared me beyond anything. The whole past year, I was waiting and watching. I knew he wouldn't just lie down and let me have it, this control over everything and everyone. And I acted surprised when he regenerated into his young self, but I wasn't . . . not really, anyway. I expected it. I was almost grateful for it.

"How about that?" I sigh, quirking a smile just for him. "I win." Because it's always been a game to us. We're centuries old, but we're still children, still so young in the eyes of our own. At eight-years-old -- God, it seems like only yesterday -- he stared into that abyss and saw his whole future ahead of him. I stared . . . and I saw my undoing.

"Make it stop, Doctor," I plead, my eyes brimming with tears that I know will never shed. "The drumming -- make it stop."

He looks back at me helplessly, and little-by-little the drumming begins to fade. The only thought that comes to mind is the very first day we met. It was the day we looked into that dark, endless abyss and saw ourselves for what we truly were, for what we were to become. I passed him on my way in. And he smiled at me with a wink, whispered that it wasn't as scary as the elders made it out to be, and was promptly smacked over the head by the elder escorting him.

I laughed. And I think it was the last laugh I ever truly let myself indulge in. Sure, I laughed a lot afterward, but they never reached down within me and made me feel the way they used to. They were only filled with mirth. I've forgotten what a real laugh sounds like.

And then the drumming stops.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, what do you think? Short, yes. Original, no. I've seen lots of stories like this one. But I thought I'd try a spin on it. Hope you liked, guys! And I can't wait to see the new episodes in December! Later, Gators! Catch you on that oh-so flippy side of life. :)


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